


Tiny Whiskey, Guns, and Money

by jupiter_james



Series: Tiny Whiskey Guns and Money Universe [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M, crack ship, mob!Vanya, professor!Ianto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a crack ship AU featuring <a href="http://joasakura.tumblr.com/">Joasakura's</a> incredible Shepard, <a href="http://joasakura.tumblr.com/tagged/vanya-pastushok">Vanya</a> and my favorite OC Shepard, <a href="http://jupiterjames.tumblr.com/tagged/Ianto%20Shepard">Ianto</a>. </p><p>Ianto Shepard is a former professor, drowning his sorrows at the local watering hole where he runs into a Russian mobster, Vanya, looking for a way out of his old life and nothing but trouble. But somehow neither of them can deny their attraction to each other and their ability to run from the mob together. Ianto gets more than he's ever asked for and Vanya gets a crazy ride that he's never hoped for.</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 01 now features insanely awesome cover art by my partner in crime, and Vanya's creator, <i><a href="http://joasakura.tumblr.com">Josasakura</a></i>!!!!!</b>
</p><p>
  <i>Chapter 04: Vanya and Ianto go on the run in earnest.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoAsakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/gifts).



[](http://s809.photobucket.com/user/strawberryandlime/media/tumblr_nttr3ib79B1qbs59vo1_1280_zpsz0c5b98b.jpg.html)

Cover art by [Joasakura](http://joasakura.tumblr.com)

"Please, Dr. Shepard, I understand your frustration, but there is simply nothing else that the University can do for you on this matter. It's settled and closed."

Ianto Shepard stood from his chair in irritation. "Without the right to appeal?"

With great grievance, the dean said, "you _have_ appealed. Five times. And been denied. Five times."

"I wasn't even put in front of a committee for a review!" Shepard insisted, raising his voice more than he could remember doing in his entire, mild-mannered life.

"The committee didn't need you at the review, Dr. Shepard. Everything you did was caught on tape. Not to mention seen by ten witnesses in the library."

Shepard crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. "I was defending myself, and that's _also_ clearly on tape. That student took the first swing! And besides that, I was under the impression from the university's conduct rules, that we had a zero tolerance policy towards cheating. And he's not being penalized in the slightest for attempting to steal final exams; not just from me, but from four other professors!"

The dean shook his head as if he was talking to a petulant child. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "The matter is closed."

Ianto drew in a deep breath. Cast his eyes up to the ornate lighting fixtures of the most prestigious university in the region. His dream job. Where he'd always wanted to be. To teach. To research. To make his life. Let the breath out slowly between his teeth, cursing himself for thinking that playing by the rules would always work out in his favor. That good things happened to good people. That honesty would always work out for the better. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said sadly. "And since this institution is so willing to crawl into bed with the mob for the sake of dirty money handouts, consider this my resignation." He shook his head, knowing there would be no argument; instead likely relief at his proclamation, and he turned to the hand-polished oak door of the dean's office.

His career was ending the second he touched the antique brass doorknob. His fingers closed around it. It was cold to the touch. Might as well finish things on the right note, he considered. He looked over his shoulder at the balding, ugly man behind his expensive desk. "You people can suck my dick," he said with a smile, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

If he thought that cursing out the dean of a university would have made him feel better, he was sorely mistaken. However, going three beers deep into his own misery at the dingy roadhouse bar at the edge of the college town, _was_ actually doing him some favors. No one in "polite society" ever came out here, and certainly never mixed with the crew of bikers and alcoholics that pretty much lived in the stained and faded faux red leather booths of the bar. In fact, in his expensive khakis, green button down that matched his eyes, shiny leather loafers, and $70 haircut, he himself couldn't have been more out of place if he'd tried. But beer was beer no matter where he pulled out his crisp twenties to pay for it, and at least here there was no chance he'd run into a former colleague or student. He could do without either of those particularly rancid cherries on top of the shit sundae. Plus, the bartender here at least had the decency to keep them coming without question. 

But the less that Ianto cared about how he looked to anyone else, the more interesting he became to a select few people in the dive bar. Most notably a young man with a shock of red hair who blended in so well to the booth he was sitting in, nursing his own beer, that Ianto hadn't even noticed him as anything more profound than a fixture. From his slouch on the bar stool, the redhead was an uncomfortable half-turn behind him, splayed out against the wall, scuffed boots kicked up on the bench so that they would trip up anyone who wavered too close on their way to the restroom. The slow grin of curiosity that crawled across his lips was ill-hidden by the bottle he pressed to them for a long draw of the almost-warm brew. 

And he wondered... "Excuse me, please, Fancy Haircut," he drawled in a thick Russian accent.

One uncomfortable half-turn later on the creaky, unbalanced bar stool, Ianto's eyes had tracked the source of the accent, instinctively knowing that the summons had been meant for him. There weren't any mullets present for the moment, after all. His had to be the fanciest haircut. "What?" he said irritably.

The Russian inclined his head. "You come join me." He lifted his beer bottle in cheers. "I have questions."

Ianto regarded the man critically. Probably around his age, though Ianto, already with some gray hair at his temples mixing in with the black, in his late twenties, probably looked older than he was. A frayed red and white checked flannel shirt, pushed up over strong forearms smattered with what appeared to be home-brew tattoos, but probably not. Too-worn jeans covering the ankles of dirty work boots. "I don't want to talk to you," Ianto said. "Will that get you to leave me alone?"

The Russian grinned, a biting look that just tipped over attractive enough to keep Ianto from turning away immediately. "No. But maybe you change your mind after some more piss-water beer. I'll buy."

"Don't bother," Ianto answered, sliding off of his stool and approaching the man slowly, mentally weighing the pros and cons of it. On the one hand, the stocky Russian was the most attractive and most sober person in the bar. Which made him dangerous. On the other hand, Ianto would be less likely to be hassled if he was already tagged by someone. Which made him appealing. So, he slipped into the booth, the padding squeaking under his weight. He stared at his companion, who stared right back.

After a moment, the Russian said, "I wonder why you are here, Fancy Haircut?"

"Don't call me that," Ianto said distastefully. "And I'm here... because I like bars that don't require the use of coasters."

Gray eyes opened widely. The laugh that followed startled Ianto with its depth and genuine humor. "He's funny! Serious face and funny words. It's good, yeah? Best people to drink with."

"I'm sure," Ianto said, rolling his eyes. "Why are _you_ here?"

Broad shoulders shrugged expansively. "I hope to meet friends like you. Nice clothes and... what's the word... gray fox? No... not... what's the word?"

"Silver fox," Ianto answered, absently brushing the gray hair at his temples. "I started going gray early."

The Russian's brows drew together in a curious expression. "You are young?"

"Twenty-seven," Ianto said, beyond caring that a rough-looking Russian with prison tattoos had a glimmer of his personal information.

"Ah, so... you have crisis in middle life, yeah? It explains you being here."

Despite the mild insult about his age, Ianto peeked out a smile. "More like a career crisis." He raised two fingers to the bartender for more beer. "Lost my job today."

"Very sad," the Russian answered, not at all looking sympathetic. "Do you have name, or is Fancy Haircut good?"

The surly sever brought their beers, which were cold, if nothing else. Ianto slid his towards the wall of the booth and held his hand out to shake. "Ianto Shepard," he said. The Russian took his hand in a firm grip. "Is it safe telling you that? My car is nice, but I'm poor, so if you're trying to find someone to rip off, I'm a bad choice." He was a little bit shocked at his blatant rudeness, but instead of being offended the Russian laughed again.

"I like you more and more, 'Yanto! So I tell you this. иван ивановицч пастушок. Happy to meet you."

"Uh... sorry," Ianto answered, embarrassed. "I'm not... Russian isn't totally my thing. I'm not trying to be insulting or anything, but do you have, like, a nickname or something?"

Vanya picked up his beer and leaned back on the bench. He leveled Ianto with an ascertaining eye. "Well. Depends. If I like you, you call me 'Vanya.'"

"Do you... like me?" A curl of either dread or anticipation settled in his chest.

"That's the depends part. Do you play pool?"

"Sorry, what?"

Vanya nodded to the back of the room. "Pool. The game. Can you play?"

Ianto glanced over to the scratched up tables in the back, watching the players at each of the three tables for a few moments. "I can," he said at length, "and since I'm a math and chemistry professor, I'm really good at it. But those guys... they look like hustlers."

"You notice it," Vanya agreed approvingly. Ianto turned back to face his companion and Vanya leaned closer over the table. "Tell me something, Mr. Fancy Haircut Shepard. Did your day get bad enough to maybe have some even badder fun?"

"Hustle the hustlers," Ianto said flatly.

"I need money," Vanya grinned. "And if there's no robbing _you_ , those assholes next best thing."

He didn't know why, but Ianto found himself smiling back. What the hell, why not? If he couldn't use his PhD to teach anymore, why not use it to exploit some geometry for a crazy Russian? It wasn't like his life could get much weirder at this point, and he'd spent all of his fucks packing up his office a few hours ago. "I'm in," he answered, chugging the rest of his beer. "But we need to use the middle table. The other two are tilted a little. It'll throw off the game."

"See? It was good to talk to you. You already save my sausage," Vanya beamed.

Ianto choked on the dregs of his beer, the bubbles burning his nose and making his eyes water. "That's... um." He coughed. "The saying is, 'save my bacon.' What you said just sounds like a dirty joke."

"Then I like it more," Vanya answered, throwing his arm around Ianto's shoulders and dragging him towards the middle pool table. "Act more drunk." Frankly, Ianto had no trouble stumbling a little as Vanya pulled them both forward. He was hardly drunk, but the Russian appeared adept at keeping him off balance already. "Friends!" he said loudly. "Fancy Haircut here has challenge for you. He tells me you are poor players. He wishes to win your money. But I think he talks from his asshole. He drinks too much and talks shit. If you take his money, I film it for YouTube." Vanya winked and waved up Ianto's cell phone.

Ianto patted his back pocket. "What the fu-"

"You're on, rich bitch," a tall, finely muscled biker answered, leaning on his pool cue and giving Ianto a once-over that made the former professor feel a little dirty. "I been working these tables for years. You're gonna be broke and crying soon."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ianto plastered on a cheerful smile and said, "sounds like fun, man! Let's do this thing." He selected the least warped cue he could find while the biker racked up the balls. "Get us a couple more beers," Ianto said to Vanya. He dug out his wallet and slapped a hundred dollars onto the edge of the pool table, grinning. "Time to separate the men from the boys!"

Vanya wandered away to the bar, giving Ianto a pointed look, but he just shrugged, prepared to play a moderate game to lose his earnings. Which was easy enough, thanks to those acting classes back in high school. Then again, he was getting pretty drunk on an empty stomach, so a slightly concerning amount of his honest shots missed completely, though he got the hang of it before long. Just as the thugs were getting comfortable and laughing about double or nothing. Two more games in, and Ianto was suspecting an impending fight. The thugs were wising up and probably drunk enough that they wouldn't let a thousand dollars go without some sort of conflict.

Handing Ianto another full beer, Vanya leaned close to his companion's ear. "Can you fight?"

"Only fairly, but I can dodge," Ianto answered in an undertone. "I've never been in a bar fight before."

Chuckling and taking a swig from his bottle, Vanya clapped Ianto hard on the shoulder. "Just hit whatever tries to hit you. Finish the game. I can help." His grin made Ianto smile in return, and he was certainly starting to feel a bit warm about the antics. He'd never been in trouble in his life. And maybe it was time to start. He side-eyed his Russian companion as Vanya meandered towards the back wall, casually fingering a pool cue and picking it off the rack. Man, Ianto thought. If only his mother could see him now. Well. She might actually be proud. She'd told him since he was in college and kept his nose pressed into books, that he should "let his hair down some time." But he never did. Except maybe now. He puffed a breath out to move his hair out of his eyes and lined up his shot. He sunk it with no effort, and Vanya was already prepared for the fallout. The second the larger of the bikers threw his cue down and grabbed Ianto by the shirt, yelling, "You _cheating_ sonofa-!" he had a sharp pool cue to the back of his thick skull. Ianto only had a second to break free before something that felt reminiscent of a freight train knocked the wind out of him from behind.

Working only on instinct, Ianto reached back and thanked God for his judo training as he flipped the balance, throwing the biker over his shoulder and hard onto the sticky bar floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vanya beating back three of the large men with a wild look in his eyes. But he only had a second to shout a warning to the Russian before he dodged a pool cue from behind, swinging around with a snarl and immediately grabbing his assailant's arm, snapping his wrist back with a sickening crunch.

Obviously more than capable of handling himself, Ianto turned back to his opponent, but the distraction had been enough for him to not see the empty beer bottle before it cracked him on the forehead, sending him to his knees amidst an explosion of pain in ricocheting through his skull. " _Fuck_ ," he ground out and then swiped his long leg in an arc, tripping the biker and bringing him down. He scrambled to his knees in a fluid motion and slammed his fist down as hard as he could onto the man's face, knocking him unconscious.

Hands grabbed his shoulders and he nearly took another swing before he registered Vanya's voice. "We go now!" he said cheerfully, "before whole bar turns against us. You mention car?"

Ianto let the Russian pull him to his feet, a wave of dizziness almost making him fall over, but the shorter man was strong and supported him out the door and into the back alley where Ianto had parked his blue Bel Air convertible. Vanya collapsed into the passenger seat, throwing a worn suitcase into the back. Ianto gunned it out of the parking lot, heading east into the city. "Fuck," he whispered, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head. "How bad am I bleeding?"

Vanya turned in his seat. "Ah. You maybe need some... stitches." He pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wound. Ianto let out a hiss of pain. "I'm very sorry about this," he said, and it actually sounded honest this time. "You fight very well."

"Yeah," Ianto said through gritted teeth. "Thanks. You happen to know where the hospital is?"

Vanya pointed down the main drag. "Not far that way. I pay the doctor bill. Is the least I can do."

"Huh," Ianto huffed. "I thought you said you were broke."

Vanya grinned and held up a wad of crinkled bills. "I remembered the money. We can share."

Despite the growing headache and what felt like it might be a concussion, Ianto laughed a little. "Something tells me you're nothing but trouble."

"Of course," Vanya answered. "I'm Russian. Always trouble. Turn there and hospital is close."

"You're coming with me?" Ianto couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "You don't want me to drop you off somewhere?"

Vanya shrugged, pulling the cloth away to check the wound. "Nope. I owe you big. I stay to make sure you are fine. Then..." he shrugged again expansively. "Then we will see."

Ianto carefully maneuvered into a parking space in front of the emergency room. "I know I should probably be worried about that, but I'm not." He took over pressing the handkerchief to his head so that they could get out of the car. Vanya came up beside him again, supporting him with his broad shoulder as they shuffled to the sliding glass doors. Ianto hated that he liked how warm the Russian was against him. Trouble. Nothing but trouble.


	2. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto recovers from his first bar fight. Vanya tags along.

"How long are they gonna make us wait?" Ianto complained, pushing the blood-soaked handkerchief harder against his head wound when he felt it start to seep again. He was tired, his whole body ached with the constant pain in his skull, and it was fucking freezing in the ER waiting room. He rolled down the sleeves of his striped green and white over shirt.

"You cold?" Vanya asked.

"Yeah, it's an ice box in here." He shivered.

"Maybe you lose too much blood," Vanya answered, concerned. "I talk to nurse." He stood up and went to the nurse's station, coming back a few minutes later with a scratchy blanket and a clean towel to trade for the handkerchief. "The nurse says they fix you next."

Ianto let Vanya drape the blanket over his shoulders and then he shut his eyes, seeing the throbbing of his heartbeat against his eyelids. "Good. This headache is driving me crazy." The drying blood on his hands and arms itched. His bruised knuckles were aching dully. Even his hair felt too tight on his scalp.

"I'm very sorry," Vanya said for what was probably the fifth time since they'd arrived. "You want I get you anything else? Maybe coffee or something? You must stay awake if your brain scrambled."

Ianto smiled vaguely at the Russian's fussing and concern, as well as his obvious need to do something rather than sitting still. "Sounds good, thanks."

Again, the plastic chair squeaked when Vanya bounced up to go to the vending machines along the far wall. Ianto spread the cool towel over his eyes and forehead while still maintaining pressure on the wound. He idly wondered why it was so quiet in the ER on a Saturday night. A ramshackle television hanging from the ceiling across from him ticked away the nightly news in boring tones while the coffee vending machine whined pathetically as Vanya filled two paper cups with whatever disgusting brew it had in store for them. He was so quiet walking back that Ianto didn't even notice him until the Russian pressed one of the cups against his fingertips.

"Thank you," Ianto muttered, taking the offering and sipping it with a flinch. "Eugh. Gross."

"Sorry," Vanya said again. "Maybe they call you soon. This place... it makes me feel like I have bugs on my skin."

Ianto chuckled quietly. "Lots of people feel that way. Why are you talking so softly?"

"Seems like I should," Vanya muttered. They sipped their coffee in silence for a few minutes until a chipper nurse opened the large doors to admitting and called for Ianto by his last name. Vanya helped his companion to his feet and shuffled him along to the semi-public exam room, cut off from the rest by half a glass wall and curtains which the nurse drew around them after checking Ianto's vitals. Vanya sat on an uncomfortable metal stool and scooted as close to the bed as he could get, tucking Ianto in tightly with agitated movements.

Ianto lifted the towel up slightly to peek at Vanya. "You really don't have to stay. The doctors have me from here."

"I won't leave," Vanya said stubbornly, nodding to the young intern who sidled in a moment later pushing a tray with all the tricks of her trade. Vanya paled slightly at the sight of all the needles.

"How's it going?" she asked brightly.

"Had better nights," Ianto said with humor. "Hoping you can fix some of it."

She smiled patiently. "No worries. Mind if take a look?" Ianto removed his hand and she gingerly peeled away with cloth with a wince of sympathy. "Oh, yeah, that's pretty raw. What's the story here?"

Ianto had to be impressed with her unguarded, combined distraction and information gathering technique. Very professional and effective. Plus, she was pretty. Brunette and bright blue eyes. And Ianto being reasonably certain that she wouldn't call the cops on them, Ianto answered proudly with a pained grin, "bar fight."

Vanya snorted and the intern looked surprised. "I should see the other guy, right?" she teased as she cleaned the wound and numbed it.

"Definitely."

She laughed lightly and nodded pointedly to both of them. "You've both got some scraped up knuckles, too. Anything feel broken?"

Vanya flexed his hands, rested them on the bed right near Ianto's shoulders. "No."

"No," Ianto echoed. "Just scraped up."

"Well," the intern said conversationally, "we don't need to do any imaging since you're not showing any signs of head trauma, but you probably have a minor concussion. So, I'd recommend staying awake for several hours just to be sure."

"Right," Ianto said.

She continued her friendly chatter while stitching Ianto up and passing Vanya sanitizing wipes to clean his scraped hands with. Wordlessly, the he took care of his own hands as well as Ianto's, and the former professor could feel the Russian's cold hands sweating just a little. Hospitals clearly weren't his thing. But Ianto had to admit that Vanya's attention felt nice, and only reluctantly let go of his hand when the intern checked his reflexes.

At the end of it, Ianto was exhausted, hopped up on pain medication with a small prescription for a handful more, and signing his release papers while Vanya paid the hefty bill in cash, as he'd promised. The intern gave him his copies and said, "keep the stitches dry, and I'm serious about not sleeping for a while. The pain medication will make you a bit drowsy, but just have your boyfriend keep an eye on you." Before either Vanya or Ianto could correct her, she turned her attention to the Russian. "When he does go to sleep, wake him up every two hours. If he won't respond, get him back here immediately, all right? The first twenty-four hours are the most important. After that, he should be fine. Take care of yourselves."

With an amused tip of his lips, Vanya said in a syrupy tone, "come along, возлюбленный. Your devoted boyfriend is here to care for you."

Ianto laughed and then groaned and stretched as they walked slowly back to the car. "Fuck, I can feel every bump and bruise now," he whined.

"You need sleep. Maybe orange juice. Something to fix the blood, you know?"

"Catch," Ianto said, tossing his keys over to Vanya, trusting his excellent reflexes. "Can you drive us to my place? Pills haven't kicked in fully yet, and this headache is killing me."

"Sure," Vanya agreed shortly.

They slid into the car and Ianto slanted a glance to the Russian. "Something wrong?"

"Not really," Vanya answered. "Just... I got you in over your head tonight. I thought maybe there's some trouble, sure, but... now you have a bad cut on your pretty face."

Ianto grinned. "Whatever, it's fine. Seriously, it's just a few stitches and a mild concussion. I've had both before, believe it or not. An ice pack and some rest and I'll be right as rain. Don't worry about it. Actually, I'm more worried about _you_. Seemed like you had some issues at the hospital. You all right?"

Vanya rolled the tension from his shoulders and turned the car on, backing out of the parking space and driving them towards the exit before answering. "I hate those places," he admitted. "Usually when I go to hospital, I don't leave them a free man."

"Ah," Ianto breathed. "I guess... well, that sounds like an awful lot of stories there. Turn right on Peachtree at the light."

Vanya did as instructed then cleared his throat awkwardly. "So... what about you? You said before that you lose your job? Somehow that seems strange. Fancy good man like you."

Ianto hummed. "Well... okay, I punched a student and got fired from the university. I was a math and chemistry professor."

For a moment, Vanya didn't answer. His eyes widened.

"Turn right again up there."

He burst out laughing and continued laughing until they pulled into the driveway of Ianto's small, but well-kept, 1930's bungalow. He coughed and chuckled some more as he grabbed his briefcase from the backseat and trailed Ianto into the house. The longer his amusement carried on, the more it irritated Ianto.

"What's so funny?" he demanded, unbuttoning his bloody shirt and tossing it into the laundry room on his way to the back bedroom, the dark stained hardwoods squeaking under his feet.

Vanya trailed him, peering curiously into every corner of the house they passed. "You are," he answered with a grin that was mostly teeth. "I almost do not believe you hit student."

"Well, I did," Ianto said, pulling off his ruined undershirt, bundling it up, and throwing it in the corner behind the door. Then he saw himself in the mirror. "Huh." And he started giggling. Caught it with his hand slapped over his mouth. But the pain pills must have reached full efficacy because he couldn't stop _laughing_ and it felt really _good_. "I look like _shit_ ," he slurred. "And I'm so _sore_. Bar fights _hurt_ , man!"

"Warm bath helps," Vanya smiled, giving Ianto's bare chest a once over. "If you don't fall asleep and drown."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Ianto giggled again, turning to fiddle with the knobs on the tub until it was hot and then let the water fill the bath half way. Rubbing at his stubble he said thickly, "wow, seriously these pills are amazing. I feel _awesome_ now."

"Of course," Vanya answered in his best patient tone. "Now strip. Get in bath before water is cold."

"Okie dokie!" Ianto sing-songed, dropping his jeans and boxers to the floor.

Vanya couldn't stop himself from flicking his gaze down quickly and then up to the ceiling. He wished he hadn't seen that. But he was also kind of glad he'd seen that. However, he waited to look back until he heard the splash of water when Ianto clambered into the tub. "Don't get stitches wet," he reminded him, voice slightly tight.

"I know." He soaped up his loofah and scrubbed himself clumsily, managing to get the blood and sweat off eventually. "Need help with my hair," he said. He turned sideways and rested his neck against the lip of the tub and Vanya had no choice but to kneel down and take the bottle of shampoo. Ianto tilted his chin up to stare at the Russian as he enjoyed a scalp massage. Vanya's fingers were firm against head and heavenly enough that his eyes fluttered closed after a moment. "That feels _really_ good." 

Vanya grunted. Then he carefully rinsed off the shampoo with the detachable shower head. "All clean," he announced.

Ianto sighed.

"No sleeping," Vanya said sternly.

"Tired," Ianto protested.

Vanya pulled the drain plug. "Get out now or you freeze. Your call."

Ianto responded with a dramatic whine, but opened his eyes and wavered to his feet. Once again Vanya found himself having to look at everything except the taller man until he finished toweling off. He dragged his feet to the bedroom and flipped on the light. Vanya toured the room with interest while Ianto dug in his dresser for a pair of sweats.

"You are a nerd," Vanya said pointedly from where he stood in front of a set of wall shelves that Ianto had built himself to house his old judo trophies, science awards, diplomas, and other important memories.

Ianto laughed. "Uh, thanks?"

Leaning closer to a shadow box full of patches, Vanya hummed. "This is... you were the boy scout?"

"Yeah," Ianto said sheepishly. "I mean, I managed Eagle Scout somehow. Every summer I spent here with the boy scouts. It was pretty fun. Kept me out of trouble."

"Do you know what trouble is?"

Narrowing his eyes, Ianto gestured to his stitches. "Bar fight."

"Pfft." Vanya waved his hand dismissively, moving on to read the spines of Ianto's books. "This is the old school science fiction. Big nerd."

"Hey, make fun all you want, but reading those books through my childhood got me interested in science in school and now I can make pretty much anything I want explode."

Vanya chuckled at that. "Good life skill."

"You hungry?" Ianto veered off suddenly. "I'm kind of hungry. Been a long night and I didn't trust the food at the bar. I made fried rice yesterday and there's plenty of leftovers for the both of us. It's really good."

"I..." Vanya paused and studied Ianto. A look of confusion crossed his face. He frowned deeply. "дрисня."

"What's up?"

Vanya rubbed the back of his neck. Scrubbed at his red hair in irritation. "Why do you let me in your house and offer me food?"

Ianto arched an eyebrow. "Because you're my guest and you helped me out a lot. The least I can do is offer you a meal."

"Are you for real?"

"Yes? I think so? I mean, I'm pretty high right now, but... yeah?"

Vanya spread his hands in a helplessly frustrated gesture. "You know how I am, yes?"

Tilting his head to the side, Ianto asked, "nice? Helpful?"

"Criminal," Vanya enunciated. 

Ianto's confused expression cleared instantly. "Oh, right, yeah, that. Okay, so... are you going to rob me while I'm out of my mind on pain medication with a mild concussion?"

"Do you have anything worth to steal?"

"Not really. Even my heirlooms aren't worth too much."

"Then, no."

Ianto shrugged. "Then come on and let me heat you up some fried rice." He crooked his finger for Vanya to follow him back to the kitchen. He took the leftovers and two cans of soda from the fridge. He told Vanya to sit, but the Russian shouldered him away from the microwave and took it upon himself to heat up the rice so Ianto could relax. The former professor sipped his Coke and followed Vanya with his eyes, amused by his stiff shoulders and clear discomfort tinged with embarrassment. Obviously he was quite far out of his element. "You can stay the night," Ianto said, meaning it, but also interested in the reaction he'd get.

His offer was met with silence. The microwave dinged and Vanya brought their plates to the table, sitting directly across from Ianto at the small wooden table and fixing him with a hard look. He still said nothing.

"It's almost two in the morning. The buses aren't running and I've got a spare room. Comfy bed."

Still no answer. Ianto passed him the soy sauce decanter. "You can take a shower and borrow some clothes. I'll wash those bloody ones."

No response. Vanya spooned a large helping of rice into his mouth. He wasn't entirely certain, but Ianto looked like he was enjoying making him uncomfortable.

"Then I can make us some French toast and bacon in the morning? It's my favorite. Got good coffee, too."

Vanya shoveled more food into his mouth.

"I'll drive you wherever you want to go after I've had some sleep. You look really tired, too."

"This rice is delicious." He sounded angry about it.

"I have a lot of practical skills."

Vanya polished off his plate like a man on a mission then slammed the spoon down onto the table. "You are too kind." The compliment came out like a curse.

"Leave your dirty clothes outside the bathroom door," Ianto continued, ignoring the complimentary insult. "There's a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Help yourself. I'll put some clothes for you in the spare room."

"Is this fun for you?"

"Oh, there's a thermostat in there, too, so if you're too hot or cold while you're sleeping, you can set it to whatever temperature is most comfortable."

" _'Yanto_!"

He grinned. "So, you _do_ remember my name."

"Did beer bottle to head make you crazy?"

Ianto sniffed primly and leaned back in his chair. "Of course not."

"Then why do all this crazy nice things for me?"

Ianto grinned and Vanya's gaze was drawn to the deep dimple on the professor's left cheek. "Because you're cute when you're thrown off balance like this."

"You are gone mad."

"Maybe I always was. You don't know." He couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up. "Look, I'm just offering some hospitality. I have to stay awake for a few more hours, and honestly? This place is lonely most of the time."

"Buy a dog."

"Don't like dogs."

Vanya collected their dishes and put them in the sink. "спасибо," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'thank you,'" he repeated louder.

"You're welcome," Ianto beamed. "For real, Vanya. You can do whatever you want. I won't keep you here if you really don't want to stay, but I'd appreciate the company for tonight. You haven't fucked me over thus far, so I really don't think you plan to. I'm not an idiot letting a stranger into my home just to pillage and burn, and I can tell that you've obviously not been the most... ah... _wholesome_ individual for however long, but the fact that you're uncomfortable with kindness means you're probably not going to take it for granted. That's why I'm asking you to take it and we can go our separate ways in the morning."

Vanya turned from the sink and leaned his hip against the counter. His expression closed. "That is... fair."

"Good!" Ianto stood, wobbled for a second, then straightened with a breathless laugh. " _Mfh_ , lightheaded. Anyway, go take a shower. I'll be in my room. If there's anything you need, just ask."

Again, Vanya followed his host moodily to the bathroom then shut the door firmly. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the spotless room with expensive towels and great water pressure. "What the fuck," he whispered. Shaking his head, he pulled off his clothes, put them outside the door as instructed, and showered, since it was the only thing he could think to do. The heavy, hot spray was admittedly fantastic on his sore muscles, and he felt himself truly relax for the first time in hours.

When he finished washing and drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist. His old clothes were gone from the hallway. The spare room was right next to the bathroom. He poked his head in and found the clean, light blue covers on the bed already turned down and a pair of matching black and red checkered pajamas folded neatly on the pillow. "What the fuck," he whispered again. He picked up the boxers. They still had a price tag on them. "What the _fuck_." He dressed and had to roll the sleeves and pant legs several times just to free his hands and feet. " _What_ the fuck."

He retreated from the cozy room further down the hall, but stopped as he approached Ianto's door. Soft sounds from the television spilled out into the hall. Vanya cocked his head for a moment and then smiled wryly. He was watching Star Trek: the Next Generation. Of course he was. Vanya knocked on the door frame, pulled Ianto's attention.

"Come on in," he said. "Feel better after the shower?"

Vanya scratched his nose. "Yeah."

Ianto inclined his head towards the TV. "Wanna watch with me?"

Already at a loss enough in the weirdness, Vanya shrugged and kicked back on the bed next to Ianto, keeping about a respectable amount of space between them. Damn, but the bed was comfortable. The sheets were cool and crisp, the pillow had no lumps, and the mattress felt expensive, like memory foam. He tried to focus on the TV, but soon enough the exhaustion he didn't know he'd been so close to washed over him, and his eyelids drooped.

"You can sleep if you want to," Ianto said softly in a way that made it sound like he wouldn't even force Vanya to go back to the spare room. _Nice guy,_ Vanya thought. _Too nice._

And when he woke up, light was peeking through the curtains on the window next to the bed, the television was off, and he was drooling on Ianto's shoulder. _Not a dream,_ he mused tiredly, studying the even rise and fall of Ianto's breathing. "дерьмо," he breathed, closing his eyes again and drifting back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not positive it'll stay this way, but as of right now, this is the only "calm" chapter I have planned in the outline.


	3. Chapter 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days just can't help getting worse.

Vanya yawned so hard his jaw popped. He rolled over under the soft covers, gathering the pillow up in both arms and snuggling down further, wiping his watering eyes on the pillowcase. He sniffled and sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so comfortable in a bed before. There had been his small cot before he'd gone to prison. A bar had always jammed into his lower back, leaving him with a dull, constant ache even at a young age. The prison beds hadn't been much better. A metal slab with blankets that always seemed give him a rash on any exposed skin that they touched. But _this_ bed. This was the bed they had on television commercials and probably in Heaven. The sheets never seemed to trap enough heat to make him sweat. The comforter was fluffy, but still light. And the _pillow_. Vanya was positive he could drool on it happily forever. Of course, he must have been dreaming. A simple dream of a beautiful bed. It was a nice dream.

Then, it slowly wasn't a dream anymore. He could smell things that seemed incongruous to what he was used to. Coffee that smelled less than three days old. A slight tang of... what? Cinnamon? Eggs, definitely. Vanya cracked a gummy eye open and found himself trying to focus on an antique chair. Clothes were folded on top of it. He recognized his frayed jeans and worn red and white button-down. His gray eyes swept around his field of vision and he also saw an open closet door with folded jeans, hanging dress pants, an assortment of belts and shirts. 

Slowly, Vanya sat up, rubbing both eyes with the heels of his hands. Right. This wasn't a motel room or a shitty apartment. It was Ianto's house. And Ianto wasn't real, of course. No one like him was real. Real people didn't have perfectly manicured lawns _and_ no dust on their furniture _and_ no dirty dishes in their sinks _and_ a Bel Air convertible without a ding on it _and_ an ironing board. Those things all together were too _clean_. Too charming. Too... perfect movie family. Not real. Couldn't be real. Vanya slid out of the bed. Padded to the kitchen while scratching his scalp and messing up his bedhead further.

Oh. It was all real. It made Vanya want to laugh crazily. Ianto was standing at a gas stove cooking. Making something else that would be so delicious that Vanya would both want to spit it out and ask politely for seconds. Just seeing the professor put a scowl on the Russian's face. How. _How_. His pajamas weren't wrinkled and his black hair was fucking _perfect_. Not a single strand sticking up where it shouldn't be.

"доброе утро," he said gruffly, sounding like it wasn't in fact a _good_ morning at all. Maybe a tolerable one, at best.

Ianto turned around, perfect white teeth showing in a bright smile. "Hey, you're up. Good morning. There's coffee over there. French toast is almost done. I didn't know how long you'd sleep, but I was getting hungry, so."

Vanya's frown deepened as he poured himself a cup of the dark coffee into a mug without a single chip on it. Added actual milk to it that smelled fresh. Sugar without any lumps. He stared down at the steam in the mug and wondered how more reality could make this whole situation seem even _less_ real. He had to get out of here. Soon.

He startled a little when Ianto seemed to be reading his mind and said, "not to rush you out or anything, but I'm sure you've got places to be. Like I said last night, I'll take you anywhere you need to go after we've eaten." He slid the golden toast onto two plates and brought them over to the table. Vanya sat down slowly, watching Ianto all the while.

"The train station," he answered after adding butter and syrup to his helping. 

"You not from here?" Ianto asked conversationally. Vanya gave him a sharp look, but of course Ianto's expression was clear of any malice or manipulation. He was one of those people who asked innocuous (to him, anyway) questions just to be polite. Politely interested. The kind of person who gave away too much information about himself like it was nothing because no one he knew would find a way to use it against him. It boggled Vanya's mind.

"Obviously," he snorted.

Ianto grinned. "I mean, I know you're from Russia. But, like... are you going to stay in the US?"

Vanya considered the question. Considered the man asking him. Considered the French toast that was annoyingly tasty. "I want to stay," he said finally. "Start the new life somewhere."

"Was it so bad in Russia?"

Million dollar question. Or... three million dollar question. Encrusted with diamonds. Suddenly curious how the square, nerdy professor would react to part of the truth, Vanya said, "I turned eighteen in prison. Released a little later. I did... many bad things. Many things that follow me everywhere. Being the person I am..." he put his fork gently down on the plate, regretting his own curiosity since he couldn't bring himself to look at Ianto directly to watch the reaction he'd been so interested in a second ago. He cleared his throat. "Being the person I am, I had to go very far away to make the clean start."

Ianto's immediate answer couldn't have shocked Vanya more than if he'd stripped naked and started dancing the Hustle. "Good for you." And he had the audacity to sound impressed.

"Huh," Vanya answered, picking up his fork again and pushing the food around his plate. "That is strange thing to say to a life-long criminal."

"Why?" Ianto insisted. "I mean, I'm not the type to pry into your colored past when I can tell you don't want me to, but making a fresh start? That's hard to do, no matter your circumstances. I might not even have a traffic ticket to my name, but I _do_ know that much. It takes a lot of commitment and bravery. So, yeah. Good for you. I admire people who grab life by the balls and make it what they want even if they're dealt a shitty hand of cards."

Vanya wasn't sure what made him feel warmer; his hand grasping the coffee mug so hard his knuckles turned white, or the fact that the strange man across the table with a calming voice and demeanor actually appeared to look totally sincere in what he was saying. But that sort of naïve view of the world was probably typical of people like Ianto, who had likely never suffered a single hardship ever. "I don't... know which is better. To say to you I am sorry, or thank you."

Chuckling a bit, Ianto shook his head. "Neither. You took care of me last night, so I'm just paying it forward, all right? Sending you on your way with a full belly and clean clothes."

"I appreciate that." Paying him back. That weight rested just fine on Vanya's shoulders, so he slouched forward in the chair and polished off his breakfast with enthusiasm.

And once they'd cleaned up the dishes and gotten dressed, Ianto drove to the train station as requested. He parked behind the terminal and walked Vanya inside.

"What about you?" Vanya asked as they made their way to the automated ticket window. "What will you do? Find new job, yes?"

Ianto took a minute to peer up at the large LCD screens above ticketing, scrolling through all of the destinations the lines ran. "Dunno," he said finally. "Maybe I should travel some, too. I haven't done much of that, to be honest."

Smirking, Vanya punched in his details and took the printed ticket and receipt. "Is good plan." Near the turnstiles, they both paused, Ianto handing over Vanya's briefcase after the Russian readjusted his duffle bag over his shoulder. An awkward silence followed. Vanya scratched his ear then stuck his hand out to shake. "Thank you for the night. You were very kind."

"Yeah," Ianto answered, shaking his hand firmly. "If you ever find your way back here... well, you know where I live. I'd be happy to see you again."

Once more with the confusing sincerity. It was slightly disconcerting how much Vanya found himself enjoying it. And even more disconcerting when his palm slid out from Ianto's and he missed the feeling. "Good luck to you, Fancy Haircut."

"You, too, Russian." He grinned and turned. Then he froze. Three men were standing about a hundred feet away and staring at him. Two tall, older men wearing impeccable suits, and a younger boy with a shiner. Exactly where Ianto had left it several days ago. "Oh, no," he muttered. "Oh, _shit_."

Vanya seemed to have noticed the men, too, because he was right beside Ianto the next second. "We have to run now," he muttered. "They know you are with me."

Before Ianto had time to be confused about why Vanya thought the men were after him, instead, the Russian had slapped him between the shoulder blades to get him moving. The second they took off, so did the men start following them shouting. 

"This is bad," Vanya was saying. "Very, very, bad. I am very sorry for this."

They sprinted towards the back parking lot, Ianto fumbling then recovering his keys. "I know them," Ianto said in a rush. "That kid with the black eye is the student I punched. That college was built on mob money." He swung his door open and leaned over the driver's seat to unlock Vanya's. The Russian was half way into the car when a sharp crack exploded in the air and sent pedestrians screaming for cover. Vanya launched himself onto the passenger seat and yelled for Ianto to go.

The former professor stomped the gas and tore out of the parking lot at top speed, panic rising rapidly in his chest. "Was that... were they... did they _shoot at us?_ "

"Да," Vanya grunted. "Get us to out of here fast."

He didn't need to be told twice. At least Ianto knew these streets around his house well. After a few miles of taking sharp turns and doubling back towards his house, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was following them. When his eyes slid back towards the windshield, his gaze slipped back past Vanya and an incongruous sight. Vanya was sweating and holding his arm tightly. A bright smear of blood streaked the white leather behind him and his red shirt was wet.

"Oh, my god," Ianto breathed, trying his very best to put his eyes back on the road while his heart pounded so hard he thought it might give out. "Oh, god. Did they...?"

"Graze," Vanya said tightly. "Don't worry with me. Get us safe."

Ianto pressed his foot down harder, allowing them only a few more minutes of haphazard driving before taking them back to his house, pulling into the garage from the alley instead of the driveway so they wouldn't be seen. No one had followed them, though, and they were inside in seconds. Vanya told him not to turn on any lights just in case. He stumbled through the doorway from the garage and Ianto caught him. "No, Vanya. Fuck, we have to get you to the hospital. You've lost a lot of blood. You're even more pale than usual. Please, if you die on me I'm going to have a mental breakdown."

Vanya pushed off Ianto's trembling hands, wobbling to the kitchen table and collapsing into one of the chairs. It almost overturned on him, smacking into the fridge before righting itself. Vanya moaned and dropped his forehead onto the table. "Get me some juice, please. Or vodka."

"I am _not_ giving you booze, Russian or not," Ianto said tightly, obeying the command and pouring Vanya a tall glass of orange juice and then slamming the entire carton down for him, too. "Fuck," he whispered. "Holy fuck. Oh, man. Fuck me."

Vanya glanced up at Ianto as the taller man stalked back and forth across the kitchen, messing his hair to bleed off his adrenaline jitters, but only making him close to a real panic attack. Vanya sighed and removed his over shirt, pressing it against his wound tightly. "I'm fine," he said.

"You're not fi-!" He stopped immediately when he realized he'd screamed the words. "Sorry, I just... I... they fucking shot you, Vanya! With a gun! A real gun! Because of _me_! You're bleeding out because I couldn't resist hitting an eighteen year-old shithead who was trying to steal test scores! Now's he's got his whole damn family after me!"

"What?" Vanya's eyebrows drew together. "You think they come for you?"

"Of _course_ I fucking think they... came... wait. You think they're after _you_?"

A pained chuckle eked out from Vanya's throat. "I _know_ that they are after me. Those men... I stole things from them. Lots of things."

That stopped Ianto dead. "You... stole... from... the Russian mob." The words sounded like they struggled by themselves to remove themselves from the professor's mouth.

"Yes," he admitted.

Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did you steal?"

"I think you don't want to know." He sipped slowly at the juice.

Ianto flipped another chair around and straddled it, staring hard at the Russian. "No, I don't want to know. I am positive that I don't want to know. I will never want to know. But like it or not, the mob has come after you, at least one of them knows who _I_ am, and if nothing else, I drove your getaway car, so now I'm in the thick of it with you. So. Vanya. Tell me what the fuck you stole from the mob."

Vanya's mouth pulled into a tight scowl. "Two – no, three million dollars."

Ianto dropped his head down, taking deep, fortifying breaths. "Three _million_ dollars?" he asked weakly.

"And diamonds," Vanya added.

"I might be sick."

"Seemed like good idea at the time."

Ianto's head snapped up. " _It's never a good time to steal three million dollars from the mob_!"

"Well, I know that _now_." Vanya's petulant tone sent Ianto into hysterical laughter. 

"Oh, my god. Oh, my _god_. We have to get out of here. We can't stay. They'll find me. Us." Focus. He needed to calm down and focus. Before Vanya could answer or protest, Ianto got to his feet, swayed through the head rush, then ran to the garage closet, throwing gear onto the work table set up in the empty space next to his car. Vanya found him a moment later.

"What is this?"

"I don't _know_ ," Ianto rushed. "I mean... I know it's all... it's camping gear. We have to get out of town now. Drive as far as we can. Stay off the grid. Then we're going to have a long conversation about what needs to be done."

"I don't camping," Vanya said.

"Too fucking bad. I don't have a lot of cash on me, and it has to last. We can't use cards or ATMs or anything. I'll clear my account on the way out of the city, but the money has to last. Tonight we'll drive until we have to stop. Find a motel. Get you fixed up. Then it's desert roads and camping trails for us. At least until we have some sort of plan."

"If you just leave me somewhere-"

Ianto spun around and jabbed his finger at Vanya to get him to stop talking. "No. Forget it. Whatever you're about to say? No. Look, I might not know much about this running from the mob thing, but I've learned a lot thus far. One. You're shit at hiding from them. Two. You'll _always_ be shit running from them when you have so much of their capital. Three. I'm mixed up in this, too, and I know the US better than you do. Four. Until I'm fully convinced that turning you over to the police or the Feds isn't the better option here, you're staying with me and doing the smart thing for once."

Vanya's face pinched. "Why did you not turn me in now?"

Ianto rubbed his temples, staving off a headache. "Would the mob find you in prison and kill you like they do in the movies?"

Vanya shrugged. "Yes."

"That's why. Come here and help me, okay? I don't want your damn death on my conscience. The sooner we can pack up and leave, the better. That guy I punched doesn't know where I live yet, but I'm pretty sure it won't be long before he finds out. And now that fate saw fit to combine both of our problems with the mob, the clock is ticking."

"I... understand. 'Yanto... I'm sorry."

Ianto gritted his teeth, not really meaning to direct his anger completely at Vanya. The man _had_ come clean, after all. Anything would have been better than three million dollars and who knows how many diamonds, but what was done was done. Now it was damage control. "Don't be sorry. Just..." He bit his bottom lip. Turned back to the work bench and pulled a clean bandana out of his tool drawer. With a sigh, he tied it off around the wound on Vanya's arm. Once finished, he turned his head to meet Vanya's serious expression only a few inches away. "Don't be sorry," he repeated, softer. "Just don't get shot again or bleed all over my car again or... die. Okay? We'll figure this out."

"You don't have to," Vanya answered, feeling his breath puff back at him from Ianto's cheek.

"I'm in this," Ianto insisted, squeezing Vanya's shoulder and moving off again to finish packing two duffle bags. "Two heads are better than one, as they say."

" спасибо," Vanya answered. "Thank you." He didn't know what else to say, or even how to argue with the stubborn American shoving everything he could into those bags, but he'd figure out how to. He was positive that he'd _have_ to before it was too late for either of them. He grabbed his arm right over the stanched wound and winced, focusing on the pain rather than the small voice in his head warning him that he'd already fucked it up beyond repair already. And for the first time in decades since being at the orphanage and dutifully sing-songing nightly prayers, Vanya prayed fiercely, feeling like it was his last option. _Don't tell me it is too late_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying really hard to carve out a real, set writing time for this one, but that may not happen until after the holiday weekend.


	4. Chapter 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya and Ianto go on the run for real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a hallucination! I finally had the time and energy to finish another chapter! My brain just doesn't want to finish anything these days. Luckily, I'm not leaving y'all with any cliffhangers or anything.

Silence. So many hours of silence that Ianto lost count of them. He'd packed what he could in the car; what was practical for running from the mob and camping in the wilderness. He figured west and probably north was the way to go, so after clearing out perishable goods from the house, turning off all the power and appliances, forwarding his mail online, and generally trying to treat the whole "running from the mob" situation as if he was going out of town for a time on sabbatical, Vanya finally stopped stalking the windows and told Ianto it was time to leave. As promised, Ianto cleared his bank account out on their way out of town and then stashed his credit cards. They at least had enough to stay off the grid for a while. But three hours into their drive, Ianto wasn't any closer to a plan than he'd been when they'd left, and Vanya had his chin in his hand, elbow on the armrest, and staring out the window with a blank expression even as the last of civilization faded away to mountains and desert. Soon enough they started seeing signs for camp grounds tucked off the highway. Preferable for at least a few days to cool their heels. 

"How are you doing? How's your arm?" Ianto asked at length, pulling off the main drag to a gas station attached to a handful of shops that looked like a good gust of wind would knock them over. Wood, strip sheet metal, and rust. Welcome to the Middle of Nowhere.

"I'm fine," Vanya answered quietly. He tipped his still-wrapped arm up. "Is stopped with bleeding now."

"That's good." He parked at one of the four pumps and shut off the engine, pulling himself out of the car and immediately stretching his back. Vanya followed him. Ianto squinted into the afternoon sun at his companion. "You hungry?"

"A little." Vanya turned and unlatched the pump to fill the tank. 

"I'll see if the convenience store has anything that's not a year expired," Ianto answered doubtfully.

"You already pack a lot of food," Vanya protested.

"Yeah, but a few snacks wouldn't hurt. I feel like eating something bad for me."

The Russian peeked out a smile at the admission. It hadn't gone unnoticed that the professor didn't have a crumb of non-nutritious food in his house, save for the bacon he'd cooked. "Some days need the trash food. But it would be shame for the professor to hurt his nice body with junk food."

Ianto barked a short laugh. "Don't worry, I'll only get a few things. Wouldn't want to ruin your nice view." Vanya studied the broad, lean back of the taller man as he wandered to the store and held the door open for a younger woman. He snorted. Was there any pleasantry at all that the guy _didn't_ practice? Probably not. The fleeting thought that he could take the car and run crossed his mind, but then an unfamiliar feeling grabbed hold the second the thought materialized. He dipped his head and finished filling the car with gas and put away the pump. He climbed back into the passenger seat and rubbed his chest irritably, scowling. Dammit. He'd never met anyone too good to cheat before now.

A few minutes later, the driver's door opened and Ianto sat down, passing two full plastic bags over to Vanya. The Russian peeked inside, pleased to find powdered doughnuts, beef jerky, beer, soda, and even a few candy bars among the cans of vegetables, soup, and pasta. "Nice," he said.

Ianto shrugged. "Felt appropriate." Pulling out of the parking lot, Ianto steered them further away from the highway.

"Where do we go?" Vanya asked.

"I'm following the signs to the campgrounds. We can stay for a few days out of sight, get a plan together, and probably not get found. It's in the mountains and there's no cell reception or anything, so we should be safe for at least a little while." He glanced over just in time to catch Vanya's grimace. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Did you know you have an awful poker face?"

 

Vanya grunted and Ianto shrugged. Another hour of silence passed, but then they were turning off of the two lane highway and down a dirt road for a few miles before they stopped in a gravel parking lot with a ramshackle double-wide trailer that was covered in so much red clay dust, that the white paint had faded to a dull brown. Ianto told Vanya to wait while he went inside to pay for a camping spot. The creaky old park ranger gave him a paper map and showed him which sites were reserved for RVs and which for tents. Ianto thanked him and decided to take them down the mountain path towards the river. And it didn't escape his notice that the further they went, the more that the Russian beside him tensed. But he wasn't talking. Just curling his fingers against his thighs until Ianto parked the car. Vanya's eyes flicked between the side windows and the windshield. Even the back.

"We're safe here," Ianto ventured.

" Да," Vanya answered slowly.

Ianto cut the engine and braced his hands on the steering wheel. "You can tell me what's going on."

"Nothing," Vanya answered.

Ianto tipped his head to the side and sighed. "Fine. But you know, the more honest we are with each other, the easier this whole situation will be. You can tell me anything whenever you want. Come on and help me set up the tent."

"I..." Vanya didn't move to open his door when Ianto opened his. The man hadn't pressured him to tell him anything that he didn't want to, but the concern was clearly there. He was sure Into wouldn't judge him necessarily. So he said, "ehhh... I think I sleep in the car."

"What? Why?"

"Is more comfortable. I spend a lot of time sleeping on cold ground before. Don't like it much."

Ianto side-eyed the redhead. "Really? I mean, it's up to you, but I brought a sleeping bag, so it's not gonna be cold. But... could you at least help me unload the stuff?"

"Sure," Vanya said. They climbed out of the car and Ianto popped the trunk. He pulled out the tent bag and Vanya shouldered the equipment bag carefully to not jar his injured arm.

After a few minutes of organizing their belongings, and noticing Vanya's discomfort more and more, Ianto said, "seriously, what's going on with you? I know I said I had no problem with you keeping your secrets, but you look like you're about to jump out of your skin. It's more than sleeping on the cold ground, isn't it? We're perfectly safe here for a little while. I know it's not ideal, but..."

The Russian shook his head. "I prefer the hotels."

Ianto studied the Russian for another minute while they began laying out the cooking equipment on the picnic table next to the packed dirt where the tent would be set up. He had his suspicions about Vanya's attitude, but he doubted them as soon as they crossed his mind. It couldn't be what he was thinking, could it? "Are you-" Ianto bit his lip and glanced around them, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Are you afraid of camping? Afraid of the woods?" His voice cracked a little in disbelief. It sounded ridiculous to say. To date, in the past few days they'd known each other, Vanya had been shot, hit, and he'd beaten back half of a biker gang with only a pool cue and a bad attitude. Fear of nature almost didn't compute in Ianto's brain.

"I'm not afraid of camping," Vanya answered with a sour look. He picked up one of the metal sporks from the picnic table and twirled it his hand, brandishing it like a knife. "I'm afraid of bears."

"Bears?" Ianto blinked. "Here? There aren't any."

"You don't know that," Vanya answered stubbornly, slamming the spork back down to emphasize his point.

"I _do_ know that," Ianto answered. "There aren't bears down here. I mean, it's not always free of other kinds of wild animals, but definitely _not_ bears this far south."

Vanya made a strangled, frustrated sound in the back of his throat. He followed Ianto back to the car for another load of supplies and then plopped onto the hood of the car right in front of the professor, pinning him with a serious look. "Boris. He can find me no matter where."

Ianto straightened up, crossed his arms over his chest, and turned to sit beside him. "Who's Boris?"

Vanya waved an irritated hand. "Is story from long time ago, okay? Back when I was kid."

Ianto nodded. Waited. Vanya didn't expand. Ianto cleared his throat. "So?"

Groaning, Vanya decided he at least owed Ianto a small amount of a story. It wouldn't do any harm. Ianto wasn't like that. The only one he'd met so far in the world who wasn't like that. "Okay, okay, it's like this? My best friend from prison is guy named Pitor. We meet up after we are out, and he brings this bear hand his uncle gets, okay? He eats part of this bear hand. Then _I_ eat part of this bear hand, okay?"

"Okay," Ianto said, trying his best to eke out what exactly was worrying the Russian while not accidentally copying his accent after Vanya's repeated nervous use of the word, 'okay.'

"Okay... so... Pitor's uncle says to me, this bear-"

"-Boris?"

"Boris. This bear is out there." He cast his stormy eyes around the sparse smattering of trees which grew denser further out from the campsite. "And he is looking for his hand. He is always looking for his hand. What if... what if the bear is looking here? _What if the bear finds me_?"

For a moment, Ianto couldn't respond. He quite literally had no words to. Admittedly, he knew nothing of Vanya. But he _did_ know that Vanya Pastushok was fearless. Everything he'd shown Ianto thus far – if only for a couple days – proved that he didn't back down or didn't fear the reaper, at least. Ianto, lost, and pretty sure he shouldn't laugh if he wanted to keep his teeth, said again, "there aren't any bears out here. Not even Russian ghost bears."

The gray eyes turned slowly back to him. "Do you laugh at me?"

"No." He was trying not to. _Really_ trying not to. "Everyone's afraid of _something_." And to save himself any more threat of losing a limb, he gathered the sleeping bags, and left Vanya to either hover by the car or follow him back to the camp site. Admittedly, it was nice when they got settled. The trees offered a pleasant amount of shade without being too dark. The weather was beginning to cool towards fall, so he didn't even break a sweat hauling out the poles and securing them into the dirt. With the deftness most Boy Scouts possessed, Ianto had the tent up and airing out in no time. He brushed his hands on his jeans and stood back to admire his work right as he heard shuffling footsteps crunching in the leaves behind him. Vanya appeared on the trail a moment later, scowling and carrying the rest of the gear and the briefcase that had caused them this whole mess.

"Beautiful evening," Ianto said conversationally.

Vanya's scowl deepened. "I hear water nearby."

Ianto pointed west. "There's a river down there about a half mile. It's not too full this time of year, but still good for catching fish, if you're into that sort of thing."

"Rivers mean snakes," Vanya answered pointedly.

This time, Ianto allowed himself to laugh. "I'm not afraid of them."

"Everyone is afraid of _something_ ," Vanya reminded him.

"Sure, but not snakes. Or bears. You can keep guessing, though."

Vanya plunked the grocery bags down onto the picnic table and sighed hugely, stretching his arms up. "Air smells different here." He coughed. "You do camping a lot?"

Ianto wandered to the table and started filling the lantern and camping stove with oil for later. "I used to. Mostly in my hometown in Japan and summers in California. I haven't been in years, but I'm sort of regretting that now. I'm not 'outdoorsy' really, but I enjoy hiking and spending a weekend camping in the silence. Resets my brain."

"Huh," Vanya said, walking around the perimeter of the camp and checking all the trees.

"You really can sleep in the car if you want to," Ianto said finally as the Russian made his third circuit around. "I won't make fun of you."

Vanya snorted. "We keep eye on each other, yes? I'll stay here."

"Plenty of room in the tent," Ianto assured him. "It's meant for four people."

Carefully, Vanya began to rustle around the bag and arrange the food items onto the picnic table. Bottled water, canned vegetables and chili and he snickered, holding up a can of Spaghettios.

Ianto shrugged with a grin. "Guilty pleasure."

"You have sweet teeth?" Vanya asked, peering into the last bag.

"I do," Ianto confirmed, "but it's also not camping unless you make s'mores. Ever had them?"

"No," Vanya answered, placing the marshmallows, chocolate bar, and graham crackers with the rest of the meticulously sorted items and tools. "But I like to try them."

"You're in luck, then. Hey, would you mind grabbing some wood for a fire?"

"We have the camp stove," Vanya gestured to it.

"You've really never been camping, have you? You have to have a proper fire to roast the marshmallows. Plus, it's best to save the stove fuel in case it rains and we can't make a fire in the pit."

Dubiously, Vanya tipped a shoulder up and then complied with the request while Ianto put their spare clothes, the briefcase, and the sleeping bags in the tent. By the time Vanya returned and dumped the wood into a pile near the fire pit, Ianto had found the first aid kit and held it out to the Russian. "You need to change your bandages," he said.

Vanya took the kit. "Is getting sore," he admitted, rotating his shoulder slowly.

"Need some help?"

"No, I can do this much." He retreated into the tent and Ianto settled down by the fire pit on one of the well-worn logs placed around it for people to sit off the ground. He puffed out a huge breath and kicked his feet out.

For a minute he worried that he might have a panic attack if he actually took the time to slow down and process what had been happening since he met Vanya. Turning his face up to the waning sun, he shut his eyes and just let his mind wander for as long as it needed to. Long enough that Vanya finished bandaging his arm and joined him on the other log. He sat silently, too.

"What the hell are we doing?" Ianto asked wearily after several minutes. 

"Hiding," Vanya said shortly.

Ianto huffed a small laugh and slid off the log, gathering some of the smaller sticks and twigs to make a fire. He took his time arranging them in a neat pyramid with balled up paper soaked with lighter fluid in the middle. The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains and a cool breeze had picked up. He and Vanya were silent again as he slowly built up the fire with larger sticks and branches, acutely aware of the Russian watching his patient movements. "You hungry?"

"Да," Vanya said. He tossed his old bandages into the fire once it was built up enough.

Ianto brought over both cans of Spaghettios, the can opener, and a grill grate to put over the flames. He held out one of the cans of pasta to Vanya, but the Russian shied back. "I am... not fine with the cooking," he grimaced.

Ianto chuckled. "Seriously? It's not hard. You just open it and put it on the fire for a little while."

"I promise to you I can only make it blow up."

Ianto laughed again and took pity, opening the cans and situating them on the grate over the fire, pushing them into position with a metal spork. Vanya did all that he could do and opened two bottles of water. Silence descended again, but this time Ianto kept smiling distractedly while stirring the contents of the cans and pushing them around towards the hot spots on the fire. Vanya scooted down to the ground to rest his lower back on the log. He appeared to Ianto a bit like a lazy cat and the former professor was struck suddenly with the surprising thought that he considered Vanya to be attractive. Not necessarily conventionally so, and certainly not his normal type. The man was short and scarred and covered in fairly crude tattoos, but his presence alone was definitely remarkable. It keyed up a constant, low-level of anxiety in him, almost like a fight or flight response, but it wasn't altogether unpleasant. "Are you a natural redhead?" he heard himself ask.

Vanya quirked an eyebrow. "Yes." His white teeth flashed against the shadows cast by the fire in the rapidly diminishing light. "Do I look like type to mess with the hair colors?"

"Not really," Ianto admitted with an easy smile in response. "I was just thinking you fit that stereotype of the firey redhead and all."

Vanya laughed outright. "I suppose I do? Then, you do fit the calm Japanese stereotype, too."

"How would you know?" Ianto said dryly. "All I've done since I've met you is freak out."

"Eh. But you always calm down and think with a clean head."

"Clear head?"

"Whatever."

Ianto removed the cans from the fire with a pair of tongs and deposited one into the dirt in front of Vanya. "It's not home cooking, but it's good enough for now."

"I don't complain," Vanya said, taking a spork and digging in.

They were quiet again for several minutes while they ate. Ianto finished first, putting his spork into his can and setting it beside him to wash later. "How do you say 'fire' in Russian?"

Vanya glanced up and gave the professor a curious look. "Is Огонь. Why do you ask?"

Ianto studied Vanya's face in the fading light and moving shadows cast from the fire pit. "Just wondering," he answered. He looked back down at the fire, poking it aimlessly with a stick, but he could sense Vanya still watching him. 

The Russian barely moved as he finished his own meal thoughtfully. "How is it in Japanese?"

Ianto's smile made Vanya lean back against the log a little more. "It's 火災," he said softly.

Vanya said, "it sounds nice when you say it."

And they were both smiling as darkness descended over their first day on the run.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for indulging me in this crack ship. It's truly my favorite OTP involving Ianto.


End file.
